


The Things We Do to Each Other

by badthingfine_as_hell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Veela Draco Malfoy, Veela Mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-05 09:09:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18825586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badthingfine_as_hell/pseuds/badthingfine_as_hell
Summary: Veela blood in the Malfoy family has been dormant for generations. But the stress of the wizarding war has caused Draco's to manifest, and he must cope with being an ex-Deatheater outcast and a secret magical creature. Meanwhile, Hermione Granger is beyond excited to return to Hogwarts for a final year without the looming threat of Voldemort. But when something completely unprecedented happens at the Welcoming Feast, her hopes for a normal year disappear.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just something I'm trying out. Let me know what y'all think.

“I thought veela were indigenous to eastern Europe,” Draco sniffed. “Why did we call in an American specialist?” He directed the question toward his parents and deliberately ignored the slight, bespectacled man seated comfortably in one of the many leather chairs in their foyer. The intruder had smiled like an idiot ever since he portkeyed into the Manor and never seemed to shut up, even with the full weight of all three Malfoy’s glares. Draco instantly despised him.

 

“Well,” the increasingly annoying American started, not the least bit put off, “they are, of course. But a large clan migrated to the city of New York many years ago, not long after the Revolutionary War. In fact, my school of witchcraft and wizardry–”

 

Draco closed his eyes and began to rub his temples. Merlin, this man was insufferable.

 

“Thank you, Professor Murphy,” Narcissa Malfoy cut through the chatter, “we do not doubt your expertise. And please forgive my son for being a bit cross. He is going through some horrific changes, as you well know.”

 

Draco opened his eyes to glare at his mother. The changes were strange, yes. Disconcerting, certainly. But not horrific. She and father were making it out to be like he was turning into a blast-ended skrewt. Their obvious discomfort with his change was not helping the situation in the slightest. Though the ministry had allowed his father a brief reprieve from his five-year stint in Azkaban to deal with this “family emergency,” the elder Malfoy was truly nothing but a pain. Like it was Draco’s fault that he woke up on an otherwise calm morning to discover he was covered in deep gashes apparently caused by his own _claws_? Like he asked for constant and often nauseating growing pains as he shot up nearly three inches in as many weeks? Like he wanted to spend his free time day dreaming about meeting, courting, and shagging a nameless and faceless mate?

 

No, Draco was not pleased with the course his life was taking. He had known about the distant veela ancestry, but his father had told him it was what made Malfoy magic more powerful and instinctual. Not that it may one day rear its clawed-fanged-black-eyed head and ruin his life. “Ah, yes. I have your letter.” Draco snapped out of his dreary musings. The American pulled out a piece of worn parchment and waved it around. “Young Mr. Malfoy’s symptoms match up quite well with the other three known of his kind.”

 

Draco winced as Lucius let out a dangerous hiss at the choice of wording. “Why,” his father began, “is this not happening to me? I went through the same ordeal. We both share only a touch of the blood. It has never manifested in the Malfoy line in this way before. _Why is my son turning into a magical creature?_ ”

 

Draco shot an accusatory glare toward his mother who pursed her lips and placed a hand on his shoulder. His father’s angry expression melted into one of careful indifference at her touch.

 

“I am almost certain the shift is occurring because Mr. Malfoy’s traumatic experiences occurred around the time of wizarding maturity.” The professor turned toward Draco. “You endured months of severe stress during your war. While your magic was settling, the added strain triggered your veela blood to manifest as a means of self-preservation. Stronger magic, physical weapons,” he held up his fingers, counting off the symptoms, “claws and fangs. And, of course, the added protection of a mate.”

 

And there it was. The part that he had been dreading. Draco quite liked the idea of becoming a more powerful wizard. He could manage occasionally taking on a frightening appearance. But being hopelessly bound to someone he had no choice in selecting was an entirely different beast. No pun intended.

 

“Added protection?” His father narrowed his eyes.

 

“Oh,” the Professor started happily, “veela instincts choose the mate based on many factors, but the primary two are compatibility and protection. Mr. Malfoy had his life threatened for so long that his veela blood undoubtedly chose a very powerful witch,” he tilted his head to regard the veela in question, “or wizard. But he will not know the identity of the mate until they are close enough in proximity for his magic to recognize and respond.”

 

“What exactly is going to happen to me when my magic or veela or whatever-the-fuck reacts?” Draco burst out angrily. Was he going to sprout wings? Get a hard on? Scoop the girl into his arms and run off into the Forbidden Forest? He was going back to Hogwarts for fuck’s sake. If he stepped one toe out of line, McGonagall was going to expel him and he would have to transfer to Durmstrang, or worse.

 

“Well, the others like you, not full-blooded veela but two witches and a wizard who made the transformation, reported a feeling of their magic singing, which is quite extraordinary. They made the change decades apart, but all three used the word ‘singing.’ And their physical appearance changed immediately. Claws, fangs, eyes.”

 

Great. He was going to turn demonic and scare the living daylights out of everyone around him, including his mate. He could barely stand his own reflection when his veela side decided to make an appearance. He was going to have to devote lots of time practicing controlling the transformations or he was going to get Avada Kedavra’d on the fucking train.

 

“–won’t be able to love anyone else, but won’t die if you are not successful in completing the mating ritual, which is a step up from full veela, of course.”

 

His mother breathed a sigh of relief, but Draco was not pleased. He gave up his childhood to suffer through the worst ordeal in British wizarding history, and he was on the losing side. The only peers who still wrote to him and could stand being in the same room with him were Pansy, Blaise, and Theo. In years past, he had Slytherins from every year desperately trying to make his acquaintance. Their silence after the war was deafening. He felt the pangs of isolation every day. And it would certainly be worse at Hogwarts. Now, his chances at an actual relationship had been ripped away. It was either his mate, or pining after them for his entire life while perhaps managing meaningless sex with others with whom a romantic attachment was impossible.

 

He had to succeed in courting the mate. It was likely his only shot at happiness in a lifetime of being scorned and hissed at for his role in the War.

 

Draco listened to the rest of the lecture carefully while maintaining a disinterested façade. Something he was quite good at.

 

The mate was not required to participate in the bond, though their magic would automatically intertwine with his and continue to do so as long as they stayed in the same vicinity. And it was almost a given that she attended Hogwarts. His veela blood, though dormant, had needed time to locate the match. If she was not at Hogwarts, then it was likely that she graduated, and he would have to locate and work his way down a list of possible candidates.

 

Though the risk of discovery was great, Draco found himself hoping that she was still at Hogwarts. At least it would be easier to court her. The longer the lecture went on, the clearer it became to Draco that he needed to succeed in wooing this mate. It was the key to his happiness. No longer would having several superficial interests at a time give him satisfaction. He was torn between resenting her for taking that away and recoiling against feeling anything negative toward her.

 

“You said you went through a bit of a growth spurt yes? Your hair’s got a wave to it now? That is your veela responding to her preferences in a partner. It is quite remarkable that this magic is so responsive to another’s wishes. Of course, we are going to maintain contact while you are in school to monitor–“

 

Draco narrowed his eyes at the man and opened his mouth to tell him that no, they were certainly not _maintaining contact_ , but his father beat him to the punch.

 

“Only if you agree to an Unbreakable Vow not to disclose any information about Draco without our approval. In exchange, he will keep up a regular correspondence with you, answering questions, the like, only if you make the Vow at this very moment.”

 

Lucius had clearly been looking for an opportunity to bully the man into this promise, and now he had it. Draco detested the smug look on his father’s face as the American’s mouth dropped open and his eyes darted between Draco and his sire.

 

“Okay,” the Professor conceded after a few tense moments, “but I may publish my findings at a later time. And I will keep Draco’s identity completely anonymous.”

 

“Am I done here then?” Draco asked sharply. He had many things to think about and many plans to start working on. He had to learn how to control his appearance as best he could and do his own personal research on this convoluted process. This year was going to be absolute hell, but at least he could prepare for it as best he could.

 

His mother nodded at him, giving a small, sympathetic smile as her son swept out of the room. Gods, he was quite tall now.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco leaned carefully against the side of Platform 9 ¾ , continuously scanning the sea of muggles for any figure that seemed out of place. The magical seal preventing entry onto the platform would give way any minute now, and Draco could safely board the train and lock himself in a compartment without fear of accidentally running into his mate and mucking the whole thing up.

 

He blew a lock of hair from his face. Hogwarts would be quite interesting. They would jeer, taunt, and curse him while Potter lavished in the praise of ridding the world of the Dark Lord. He wondered idly if the professors would even put on the pretense of being objective.

 

Draco had made a point to get to the platform extremely early so as to avoid the chaos of the train and put off fate for a little bit longer.  

 

He held back a yelp as his shoulder dropped sharply through the bricks, only managing to right himself at the last moment. He gave a final, searching look through the station and, seeing no one watching him, grabbed his trunk and strode through the wall.

 

He bit back a grimace as he inhaled the dark smoke of the Hogwarts Express. He would have to ward his compartment very strongly in case he sensed his mate and his magic started to “sing.” (A quite ridiculous and unhelpful explanation). He was only marginally confident in his ability to control the physical symptoms. Hours of planned provocation by house elves–who really despised the exercise–and extreme concentration had given him inconsistent control, at best.

 

Draco nodded at the conductor and hauled his trunk on board, turning immediately to the very front of the train. Most students would hopefully start toward the back. Someone might try the first compartment, but discovering it locked would think–

 

“Well, I for one certainly do not want that to happen, and I will make it _very clear_ that we deserve no preferential treatment in our academics!”

 

Every single muscle froze. Spikes of adrenaline coursed themselves through Draco’s veins as his hands began to shake.

 

“Aw, come off it ‘Mione. Can you imagine a professor giving bloody _Harry Potter_ detention for turning in an essay late?”

 

Laughter from Weasley and a hesitant, answering giggle from Granger. Draco was separated from the pair by one door, but they were clearly coming this way.

 

He turned frantically, but when he tried to throw himself into a compartment, he found that he couldn’t move a single inch. It was like someone had cast a Permanent Sticking Charm that bound his feet to the floor of the train.

 

“Fuck,” he whispered, tasting blood as his fangs slid from behind his teeth and his nails lengthened, becoming impossibly sharp and dangerous looking.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Why couldn’t he bloody move? Why was his body reacting so violently?

 

He heard their footsteps falter entirely too close to the door. “Wait, is that the trolley? I’ll be right back. I’ll grab you and Harry some chocolate frogs and sugar quills. Leave the door open, will ya?”

 

Draco breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the Weasel retreating, but now he had Granger to contend with. Granger, who would undoubtedly put him in a fully body bind and report him to the Ministry once she saw his black eyes.

 

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and shoved his hands into his cloak, ripping it in the process. If he pressed his lips together, he could barely hide his fangs.

 

“Oh,” a small voice said.

 

A jolt. _Singing_. He could move. 

 

“Granger,” he hissed, turning his head sharply away from her. He threw his luggage into the compartment and slammed the door shut behind him. He immediately pulled out his wand and cast every ward and protection spell he could think of. It was quite easy when his magic was bloody _singing_ with power.

 

He tossed his wand to the floor when he was done and rested his head against the wall. He was floating, an inner substance pulling him up, up, up. Draco wouldn’t have been surprised if he started levitating.

 

He knew he was smiling wider than he had in years. Anyone who would have seen him in that moment would’ve been terrified. His fangs were long and his eyes were deep obsidian. His claws curled at his side and he rested the back of his head against the wall, staring at the ceiling in a mix of elation and horror. 

 

Granger was his mate. Granger, the most famous fucking witch in fucking Britain who hated him more than anyone else alive. The fates had decided to well and truly fuck him. He would never have the solace of a cooperative mate, Granger was _unwilling_.

 

His eyelids fluttered as he recalled every single instance in which he had bullied and taunted the girl in school. There had to be hundreds. 

 

The memory that stood out the most was her scared, dirty face contorted in pain as his aunt dug a knife into her skin.

 

Draco groaned, loud and long. He was doomed to crave this girl in silent pain for the remainder of his life. It was only fitting.

 

A smug voice in the back of his head interrupted his misery. Draco had the unpleasant feeling of knowing the thoughts were his but also knowing that they came from somewhere primitive within him. A darkness that had only just emerged.

 

Because  _of course_ Granger was his mate. The Brightest Witch of Our Age. The girl who Harry Potter would have been dead years ago without. She easily rose to the top of the class every year. She was kind to a fault, fiercely independent, and…beautiful. There was truly no one else worthy of his unwavering affection. Malfoy’s always got the best.

 

He had recognized her looks long ago, before the Yule Ball and the Weasel’s ugly scene when he realized what he’d missed right under his nose. Pansy had even grudgingly conceded that she looked “less horrible than usual” that night. But Draco had already known for some time that she was attractive.

 

Not that he would have ever admitted that before under any circumstances.

 

He’d caught himself in third year Potions gazing longingly at the slight bud of her breasts under her robes. Later, he had subtly admired her profile as she chopped up Murtag roots, eyes snaking down to the bow of her lips. Besides, what was the harm in looking if he wasn’t going to touch?

 

Back then, those sneaking, appreciative glances weren’t only for Granger, so it didn’t matter. Like every other growing lad, he stared and sometimes fantasized.

 

Naturally, those thoughts got a little cruder as the years past. More than enough times Granger had prattled on about some inane theory in class, and he’d imagined tugging on her curls as he shoved his cock into her mouth to quiet her. He wondered if she would like it, having a wealthy, Pureblood wizard’s cock between her lips. He had to hide a hard on for the rest of the period.

 

Draco hadn’t fantasized nearly as often about the other witches. He figured the forbidden thing with Granger was what got him going. Nothing to truly dwell on. It was like wanting to give Madame Pince a go. Now, he supposed he knew better.

 

Another groan as fangs and claws began to recede and the intense thrumming of his magic calmed into a pleasant vibration. He sensed Granger moving toward the middle of the train–his magic was keeping tabs on her. An unfortunate side effect? He wasn’t sure.

 

Draco pressed his forehead against the window, closing his eyes when he heard Theo and Pansy’s voices outside. They could wait for the Welcoming Feast.

 

He needed time alone.

 

***

Draco stuck his head out of the compartment door cautiously, eyes narrowing as he scanned the corridor. Satisfied that the train was completely empty, he slinked out into the darkness.

 

Draco managed to hitch a ride on the last carriage with no one seeing him except the two terrified first-years that accompanied him for the ride. The bully in Draco wanted to flash a fanged smile and tap a claw to his cheek, but expulsion was not worth a fun trick. He saved the thought for a more opportune moment that wouldn’t land him in Durmstrang miles away from Granger.

 

Draco frowned at the thought, annoyed that the witch had already established a subconscious hold on his mind.

 

When the carriage came to a creaking stop, he allowed the first-years to scramble away and rejoin their friends before he stepped out. He had to bend nearly ninety degrees to exit the small opening. He generally liked the extra inches (he could look down his nose at his father), but it could be quite annoying when he incessantly banged his head on doorways.

 

Draco brushed himself off and kept to the edges of the crowd as they made their way to the Great Hall. He made a point to keep his chin high and gaze forward, utterly ignoring everyone around him and seating himself at the very corner of the Slytherin table. He did _not_ look to the Gryffindors, even though the temptation grew with every passing second.

 

Draco held in a sigh of relief when his friends filled in the seats around him. They were a welcome distraction from the hell that waited patiently for him to take a look.

 

Theo and Blaise immediately set to whispering to each other, eyes darting furtively around the Great Hall. They both nodded at Draco, but knew that waiting until he spoke first was the best way to get a response. 

 

Pansy muttered a quiet greeting as she seated herself across from him. She started in on a half-hearted scolding about his “absence” on the train, but abandoned it after a few insults. 

 

The bags under her eyes were more pronounced than he had ever seen, and her dark hair hung limply by her ears. Consequences of being the girl who tried to sacrifice Harry Potter. He felt a stab of something intense near his naval. Pity? Sympathy? Bitterness? She’d probably dreaded returning to Hogwarts even more than he had. Pansy cared more than he ever did about the opinions of others.

 

The four Slytherins sat numbly through the Sorting Ceremony, giving only a muted applause when they gained a first year. The boos and hisses from the other houses were much, much worse, which didn’t bode well for the rest of the term.

 

Ah, well. He only had to survive one more year at Hogwarts. The new first-years had seven years of hell to look forward to.

 

He winced as Gryffindor gained another recruit. The vigorous applause and beating on tables was grating on his nerves. And Granger was certainly not helping.

 

Draco sunk his nails into his thigh, trying to ignore the thrumming of Granger so very close. It didn’t help that the vibrations grew in intensity every time the sorting hat said Gryffindor. Potter and Weasley’s celebratory shouts were aggravating, but Granger’s kind encouragements bothered him far worse.

 

Draco had no idea what to do. No idea of how to begin to go about this. He would think about it later, when he was safely sequestered in the Dungeons as far away from Granger as he could hope to get inside the castle.

 

Theo nudged Draco’s ribs, and he looked up to the front of the Great Hall where McGonagall was standing.

 

“Greetings students, new and old. With a heavy heart, we honor the dead– “

 

He trained his gaze back down to the table, painfully aware of the vindictive glares from the other houses. Luckily, McGonagall was much more brief than Dumbledore had ever been.

 

Yet, Draco couldn’t seem to help himself. His eyes flitted over to the Gryffindors, where Granger was practically sitting in Weasel and Potter’s laps, a smile on her lips and gazing obediently at the new Headmistress.

 

“–would not have been possible without the outstanding heroics of several of our own students. Please join me in special recognition of Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger.”

 

His face twisted into a sneer as the trio stood up, holding hands, and the entire room burst into applause. Granger was blushing profusely, but laughing and smiling all the same. Weasel was letting out victory whoops. But Potter–his gums tingled–Potter was looking at the witch beside him with unmistakable adoration.

 

Potter was a _threat_ , that much was suddenly clear. When Granger tilted her head to look back up at him, eyes shining, Draco squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t control it. Anger. Jealously. Betrayal. He wanted to rip Granger away from the embrace of those two idiots and show her where she truly belonged. His claws sunk into his thighs and his mouth filled with blood. His magic was thrumming at breakneck speed; he was practically vibrating with the–

 

“HERMIONE GRANGER!”

 

Silence.

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

 

He opened his eyes slightly. No one would be able to see the unnatural color of the slits.

 

The trio, still standing, all looked to the sorting hat with gaping mouths. Every eye was trained on Granger as she took a few tentative steps toward the front of the Hall.

 

McGonagall pursed her lips in surprise and displeasure, but the hat called for Granger again and there was nothing anyone could do.

 

Gods, Draco knew this was his fault. His magic had calmed considerably, and he felt ill at ease despite having no idea what the blasted thing would tell his mate.

 

The hat barely touched the top of her curls when it loudly and authoritatively sorted her into Slytherin. He was vaguely reminded in his panic of his own sorting.

 

Draco slipped away in the chaos.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am incredibly grateful for all the comments and kudos. I rarely write creatively, so I was nervous, but it's been so much fun and I can't wait to continue the story. Thank you so much for reading

Hermione Granger was content.

 

Her aching sadness for everyone lost in the War struck her deeply at odd times, taking her breath away. But the Ministry was handling the aftermath much better than anyone anticipated. It seemed that being so close to the brink of destruction had placated the power-hungry and emboldened the do-gooders to throw themselves into reconstruction. She didn’t think there would be trouble again for a long time.

 

Hermione’s only nagging worry was her parents, who were making slow progress at St. Mungo’s. Their memories were returning, but much slower and more fragmented than she would have liked. Yet, the healers assured her that her family would make a complete recovery. 

 

Yes, she was content.

 

Harry and Ron’s agreement to return to Hogwarts had surprised and pleased her immensely. She wasn’t sure if the school would hold the same appeal now that so many of their friends had lost their lives there. But Hogwarts was still Harry’s home, and Ron would always belong with them.

 

“McGonagall said that she added extra wards to specifically keep out the press, which should help with everything.”

 

Ginny grimaced as the four students boarded the train.

 

“At least the Burrow will finally get some privacy. I swear to Merlin I almost threw an Unforgiveable at that awful reporter _peeking_ through my window.”

 

Ron chuckled and rolled his eyes. “He was more scared of you than you were of him.”

 

Hermione huffed a laugh while Ginny shot a blinding, if slightly sinister, smile. “He didn’t come back,” she said and followed Harry down the corridor.

 

They wanted to get on the train early to avoid the crowds of students and parents who would make it very difficult for the war heroes to board without a fuss. Harry especially wanted a little peace and quiet before the sensation overload of Hogwarts.

 

Ginny looked back at Hermione and raised her eyebrows in a question.

 

“Oh, Ron! Let’s check the front compartments, I heard they’re a bit bigger.” Hermione pulled Ron’s cloak in the opposite direction. “We'll report back,” she called out over her shoulder, not noticing Harry’s sudden frown.

 

The tips of Ron’s ears turned a tell-tale pink as they made their way to the front. “Are you trying to whisk me away to snog me, ‘Mione?” He laughed. Hermione didn’t miss the way he nervously licked his lips.

 

“No,” she said pointedly, resisting an eye roll. “Ginny told me she wanted a few minutes alone with Harry. And I’m a good friend. Besides, we always sit in the back.”

 

They easily set to good-natured bickering about the upcoming year. Ron was not the least bit worried about his future career, feeling his auror status set in stone, and was therefore not the least bit worried about academics. Much to her annoyance.

 

“Aw, come off it ‘Mione. Can you imagine a professor giving bloody _Harry Potter_ detention for turning in an essay late?”

 

Hermione couldn’t help but let out a giggle. She opened her mouth to point out that yes, McGonagall still would. But Ron suddenly stopped, and she nearly collided full on with his back. “Wait, is that the trolley? I’ll be right back. I’ll grab you and Harry some chocolate frogs and sugar quills. Leave the door open, will ya?”

 

Hermione laughed softly and nodded. Ronald and his sweets, Gods. But she couldn’t help the bloom of warmth deep in her chest. Some things never changed, and she was intensely grateful for that. She slid the corridor door open.

 

And it all happened very fast.

 

Malfoy, looking quite distraught with his eyes closed. He was standing stiffly, as if he'd been anticipating her arrival.

 

And _Circe_ , he was tall. She remembered him being around the same height as Ron, but that had clearly changed.

 

“Oh,” was all she said.

 

“Granger,” came his answering hiss. And then the slam of the compartment door and Hermione was left alone. She swore she could feel a sudden thrum of magic emanate from where he’d been standing. It gave her goosebumps.

 

Hermione turned and walked back towards her friends in confusion. Malfoy was obviously still a git. His hateful tone and aggressive dismissal did not surprise her. But she couldn't shake a feeling of oddness from the encounter. 

 

She smiled when she caught up with Ron, who had already made his way through several chocolate frogs.

 

“Changed my mind. Let’s sit in the back like old times, hm?”

 

They slid into a compartment with Harry and Ginny. The latter looking somewhat perturbed and the former with a hint of blood in his cheeks. They sat several inches apart. Hermione wasn’t going to pry. If either of them decided to confide in her, so be it. 

 

The tension soon melted, and all four shared their excitement about greeting old friends as the train lurched forward.

 

Hermione enjoyed the ride, but her mind wasn’t fully dedicated to the conversation. What was Malfoy doing on the train so early? Why didn’t he get into his compartment when he _surely_ heard her and Ron coming down the corridor?

 

She leaned her head against the window.

 

He was much taller. More of a man than she had ever seen him. And was that a wave to his hair that she glimpsed before he disappeared….

 

***

“HERMIONE GRANGER!”

 

Three heads snapped to the sorting hat, which sat quite inconspicuously on a table behind the Headmistress. 

 

Hermione gulped, fingers squeezing Harry and Ron’s. She felt one of them nudge her toward the front of the Hall, but apparently she wasn’t quick enough for the hat, which opened its wide mouth and bellowed her name once more.

 

She strode forward in silence, acutely aware that every gaze in the vast Hall was fixed on her.

 

Good gods, _what_ could it be this time? Were they doomed to magical conflict for the rest of their lives? Hermione was just beginning to regret her decision to return to Hogwarts. Clearly the school was cursed, if only for her and her closest friends.

 

She was more than annoyed by the time she stepped in front of the hat. She may as well get this bloody over with.

 

Hermione kept her back to the student body as she lifted the old thing and prepared to place it on her head. She hadn’t even felt it touch her scalp when it proclaimed her as a Slytherin for all of Hogwarts to hear.

 

She dropped it to the ground instantly.

 

Hermione whipped around to find Harry and Ron, her eyes wide in shock. They were already coming toward her. She vaguely registered McGonagall’s hand on her shoulder. A flash of pale blonde in the corner of her eye. Malfoy storming off in disgust.

 

A jolt ran through her as the loud clatter of the Hall turned into discernible, ghastly shouts.

 

“Dark witch!”

 

“Traitor!”

 

Harry and Ron shielded her protectively, both boys talking at once.

 

“My office. Now.” McGonagall stepped away and started briskly toward an exit. Hermione turned robotically to follow.

 

She knew her boys were following, and dimly heard McGonagall ask in a high-pitched, sarcastic voice if the sorting hat had called their names as well.

 

Hermione turned and tried to smile, but only managed a grimace.

 

“I’ll find you after, okay?”

 

She could see Ron's hesitation, but Harry’s green eyes blazed into her own. “You are a Gryffindor, Hermione. And we will make sure everyone knows that.”

 

Her false smile turned a bit more genuine. “Thank you.”

 

She could still hear the fuss of the Great Hall as they left, but she felt more lively, her brain whirling. Hermione caught up with McGonagall, and they both mounted the winding staircase.

 

“The sorting hat must have been tampered with,” she said matter-of-factly, “I’ve never read about this happening before. Re-sortment is unprecedented, correct?”

 

“Correct.”

 

It would make sense that someone who was unhappy with the outcome of the War would try to cause trouble by some clever enchantment. Judging from her peer’s blatant outrage, they had succeeded.

 

The students were so quick to label her as a Dark witch. It only took one word. Yet, Hermione reasoned, it must have been leftover fear from the War. The months of trauma would make anyone instantly suspicious at what occurred in the Great Hall.

 

But after everything she did, it still stung that they had turned on her without a thought.    

 

McGonagall seated herself behind the large desk that once belonged to Albus Dumbledore. Hermione’s gaze flitted about the room, taking in the assortment of magical objects and overwhelming number of portraits. Dumbledore’s frame was empty. She tried to hide her disappointment.

 

“It would take an alarmingly powerful witch or wizard to trick Godric Gryffindor’s hat into what transpired today.” McGonagall took a deep breath. “Rest assured, this will be investigated thoroughly. We will find out how and why this happened.”

 

Hermione nodded. If there was a dark magical someone bent on her humiliation, they certainly weren't the first. And she always came out on top.

 

“For now, let us try simply asking.”

 

Hermione jumped at the sudden crack. A house elf apparated on McGonagall’s desk, holding the hat (which was as big as she was) gingerly in her hands. “Headmistress,” she squeaked, “I’s bring you what you’s asked for!”

 

McGonagall smiled tightly and took the hat. The elf disapparated with another loud crack that Hermione was much more prepared for. But she was suddenly nervous as she stared at the large, dirty thing. What if it confirmed what the rest of the students thought they knew? Would she be expelled from Hogwarts, sent to Azkaban without ever having done anything?

 

McGonagall gestured for her to get up and stand beside her chair so that both women faced the hat. It did not look the least bit animated. No twitches or even a hint of the slit that served as its mouth. McGonagall cleared her throat.

 

“It is well-known that you have never made a mistake. Why re-sort Miss Granger into Slytherin at the very end of her career in Hogwarts?”

 

They both peered at the hat; their faces drawing unconsciously closer to the area where the mouth should be.

 

Both witches let out uncharacteristic shrieks when a long strip of fabric shot out from a suddenly wide slit. It blew a rather rudely long raspberry at them, then fell silent.

 

“Well,” McGonagall huffed, straightening her robes and glaring at the offending item, “we will get to the bottom of this, I assure you Miss Granger. For now, you will reside in an empty professor's apartments. Luckily we have several. You will wear unmarked robes, but your classes will be with Slytherin. Unless you prefer to live in the Dungeons and wear their sigil until we can confirm or deny your house, of course.”

 

Hermione drew in a sharp breath, her mouth falling open in shock. She was effectively kicked out of Gryffindor? Her _home_? 

 

“No arguments,” McGonagall said sharply when she noticed the girl’s distress. “You may be back in your Gryffindor bedchamber tomorrow night if it can be determined that the hat has been enchanted. These are temporary measures for your safety.”

 

Her voice grew softer.

 

“I know you've been through a horrific ordeal and want a year of peace. That is why I will do everything in my power to correct this.” She murmured something under her breath and the same house elf appeared with a crack. “Minnie will show you to your new chambers. You may set your own password and change it as you see fit. I will send messages to Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley about your new whereabouts.”

 

Hermione knew better than to say anything else. She merely nodded, suddenly very tired. Though she wished she could climb into her own bed, a little alone time away from her housemates would be welcome. She would return to the Gryffindor tower soon.

 

She hoped.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to heat up.

Draco fell to his knees at a desk in an empty classroom after throwing a quick succession of wards at the door. Escaping to the Common Room or his bedchambers would be unwise. Who knew when the students were going to return and what they would find? He needed a nice, isolated space with plenty of things to break, and he wasn’t ready to try the Room of Requirement—or whatever was left of it.

 

Granger in Slytherin. What an absurd notion, and one that he would have been disgusted with six months prior. He glared at the opposite wall. He hadn’t missed the shouts that erupted after her sorting. Angry accusations of darkness. As if _mudblood_ Granger would ever be capable of any such action.

 

He raked his claws across the surface of the desk, wincing at the pain but enjoying the feeling of release. He needed to erase that word from his mind. It should have disappeared completely when he realized the identity of his mate. But, he guessed, as he watched in fascination as his claws destroyed the wood, old habits die hard.

 

His spike of fury and impulsive need to snatch Granger and run must have transferred into a strong blast of magic that affected the sorting hat. He had no idea that his veela influence was so powerful. It was something that he would grudgingly include in his letter to the American idiot. Maybe the correspondence would help remove any more nasty surprises if the Professor could answer his questions. The veela books were useless; they focused only on full veela and never so much as mentioned a case like his.

 

He let out a small growl as his gut twisted with the stab of Granger's emotions. She was very, very upset. Draco was hit by a sudden need to tell McGonagall, make her an ally. If only to alleviate the cocktail of unpleasant emotions that were rolling through his mate. It wasn't as if he could go comfort the girl, but he had to take some sort of action. The little witch was basically demanding it. And he needed someone in the Castle to be on his side in this—even though the Headmistress was a Gryffindor, she was known for being fair. She would understand that it wasn't his choice, and she would know how to help the girl. Possibly coming up with a discreet solution to put her back into Gryffindor, which would make his mate happy.

 

He stared at the marred wood and felt a twinge of disappointment. Granger in Slytherin was ludicrous, but he would have unlimited access to her. And she wouldn’t be sleeping in the same tower as Potter and Weasley. He could picture her in the Slytherin Common Room, sitting at one of the large desks with piles of books and quills and parchment. Her dark curls trailing down her back and a green and silver tie at her throat. She would look good in green.

 

When his claws finally disappeared, Draco quickly restored the desk and cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself, exiting the classroom. He set off toward the Headmistress’s office through eerily empty corridors. The rest of the professors must have sent the students to their houses. He wondered where Granger was.

 

It was pure luck that McGonagall was coming down the staircase just as he arrived.

 

“Headmistress,” he said stiffly, cancelling the charm. Her startled expression lasted only a tenth of a second—he could have blinked and missed it—before it turned carefully blank.

 

“Mister Malfoy,” she returned the greeting and waited for him to speak.

 

“I need to talk to you in your office.” He decided to forgo any ambiguities. The sooner they were alone, the better. He wanted to avoid talk around Hogwarts of this encounter. He needed the least amount of attention on him for this year if he was to keep his identity secret _and_ woo Granger.

 

Draco blinked at the thought. He hadn’t actively decided to court Granger, but it seemed that not trying just wasn’t an option. Suddenly, he couldn’t imagine a scenario in which he _didn’t_ base his year at Hogwarts around the witch.

 

“It’s about Granger,” he blurted out. It was really all he could say in the open.

 

She looked at him shrewdly for a few seconds, then nodded. “Whiskers.” The staircase appeared once more.

 

His skin prickled as he entered the office. Granger had been there very, very recently. He could virtually feel the warmth of her body from the chair. He knew she was in the Castle, but it would take some time to track her to either the Gryffindor tower or the Dungeons. It would be the first thing he did when he left, that was for damn sure.

 

“Did you enchant the hat?”

 

“No,” he answered sharply, looking up at the woman with narrowed eyes. “But I need an assurance of confidentiality before I can have this conversation with you.”

 

It took several minutes of heated negotiation before Draco finally settled on taking McGonagall’s word for it that she wouldn’t discuss their meeting with anyone. An Unbreakable Vow was out of the question, and she refused even the minor promise charms. He supposed that her “honor as a witch” was the best he could get.

 

So he told the story. Starting at waking up in the Manor covered in self-inflicted wounds and ending with his theory about the re-sorting (though he left out the jealous rage and instead said that he felt disconnected from her which was why he thought his magic would seek to bring them closer together).

 

The past headmasters and mistresses had all returned to their frames and were watching him closely as he finished. He resisted the urge to sneer at the lot, and he pointedly ignored Dumbledore’s gaze. That would simply be too much for one night.

 

“Change.”

 

“What?”

 

“You say you make a transformation. I want to see this change to determine that what you are telling me is the truth without resorting to Veritaserum."

 

Draco’s mouth pressed into a hard line. Of fucking course the bitch wasn’t going to take his word when he was supposedly taking hers. What _bullshit_.

 

He put up no efforts to resist the change as the anger took over—and he knew exactly when it occurred. The portraits drew a collective gasp, McGonagall’s nostrils flared, and her chair squeaked as she pushed back from the desk and away from him.

 

He didn’t even want to savor the reaction. He only wanted to see what McGonagall could do for him. Instead, she threw it back in his face.

 

“I have watched Hermione Granger being grossly mistreated at _your_ hands, Mister Malfoy, for seven years.” She stood up, her expression of alarm had flipped to outrage. “She lost her childhood, many of her friends, and now her House. I will not betray your secret, and I will help you manage this issue as best as I can, but you need to stay away from Miss Granger. Violate this rule, and I will find a reasonable cause to expel you.”

 

He felt his temperature grow hotter and hotter with each word. If his claws and fangs hadn’t already been out, they would have surely made an appearance by the end of that speech.

 

No _fucking_ one was going to keep him from his mate. Not the Headmistress of Hogwarts, not his parents, not the fucking Minister of Magic. He went from unconsciously entertaining the idea of courting Granger to knowing with every inch of his soul that he was going to convince her to accept him.

 

“Deal,” he hissed, knowing that anything less would be unwise, “but what of her House? You can’t say the real reason she was re-sorted.”

 

McGonagall sat back down, looking a bit surprised that he wasn’t going to put up a fight. How stupid of her.

 

“We don’t know if you are the real or only reason for her re-sortment. I understand your magic is more unpredictable now, but the sorting hat is centuries old and a very powerful magical item that we do not truly understand.” She rubbed her temples. “There may be magic in place barring Miss Granger from returning to Gryffindor. I need time to evaluate the situation.”

 

Hope bloomed suddenly in Draco’s chest. Return to Gryffindor meant she was in Slytherin!

 

“How am I going to avoid Granger if we belong to the same House?” He asked in a drawl. It would be so much easier than he thought to secure his mate.

 

“Miss Granger is temporarily residing in separate apartments. If she is deemed officially sorted into Slytherin, we will have another meeting to set boundaries. You will attend classes together, but I can assure you that _I will know_ if you try to initiate contact. Do not be foolish.”

 

He wasn’t deterred. Separate apartments was just as good. Likely an empty professor’s residence or a guest apartment for visitors. Now that he knew what to look for, tracking her wouldn’t be an issue. He kept a disinterested expression.

 

“Headmistress, I came to you with this information. I could have kept it secret and planned to approach Granger in the Dungeons. I chose to come to you,” yes, he was seriously regretting this impulse decision (how terribly Gryffindor of him), but the intensity of Granger’s feelings had demanded action, “which I hope shows my desire to put this mate issue aside and continue to live as a normal wizard.” Besides, McGonagall knowing could help cover up any accidental transformations that would be hard to explain later.

 

Her eyes searched his, which had since returned to their regular grey. She looked unconvinced, but it was of no importance to him.

 

“Please return to the Dungeons, Mister Malfoy,” she finally sighed. “Thank you for coming to me.”

 

He dipped his head in acknowledgement and stood up to leave. She was already halfway turned toward the portraits, eyes locking with Dumbledore’s.

 

Draco walked down the stone stairs, trying to keep the spring out of his steps. If anything, the meeting had given him important information. Granger was by herself. Sleeping, if his tentative read on her emotions was anything to go by.

 

He recast the Disillusionment Charm. McGonagall wouldn’t expect an instant breach in her little rule. He would get to Granger before she had time to set up any troublesome wards, shields, or other flimsy barriers that he would destroy, but still have to work around to avoid alerting her.

 

Draco concentrated hard. He imagined her wide smiles during the feast, her dark curls swinging as she walked to the hat. He followed the feeling in his gut, confident that it would lead him to where he wanted to go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I had this chapter carefully planned out. I *thought* I knew exactly what Draco was going to do. But he took me by surprise and is basically doing his own thing at this point, which really is the Draco we all know and love.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione stared vacantly at the wall across from her new bed. She had been drifting in and out of consciousness for an hour, but unable to completely fall asleep. The day had started on such an utterly cheerful note. The collective Burrow, headed by Mrs. Weasley, cooked a breakfast large enough to rival the Welcoming Feast. The tiny hiccup with Malfoy on the train was quickly dismissed, and the sorting was just _fun_ with her boys cheering by her side and all of Hogwarts celebrating the end of the War  as one unit. How had things gotten mucked up so quickly?

 

She buried her nose into the soft down of the pillow. Though it was noticeably more comfortable than her old bed, she would have much preferred the familiar lumps in her Gryffindor mattress.

 

Harry and Ron had been so supportive; it almost brought tears to her eyes. They made her tea in her little kitchenette, brought her a Gryffindor colored blanket, and reassured her over and over again that they were working on fixing everything.

 

Harry had assembled the entire Gryffindor House in the common room to give an impassioned speech attesting to her innocence. If _anyone_ was overheard bashing or expressing suspicion about Hermione, they were going to have to report to Harry Potter himself.

 

“It was fucking amazing, ‘Ermione." Ron blew crumbs from a scone that he nicked from dinner. “They looked at him like he was bloody Dumbledore. And we said to spread it to the all the other houses. Can’t say anything for Slytherin, obviously, but I bet my wand that you aren’t going to hear anymore rubbish about you being a dark witch.”

 

Harry held a faint blush to his cheeks. “I was just very clear about your role in the War and what side you stood on. That can’t be erased by a stupid hat, you know.”

 

Hermione smiled and thanked them multiple times. But she was quite ready to go to bed soon after they arrived. So she made plans to have Ginny, and Neville join them for breakfast in her apartment (because who knew where she could bloody sit in the Hall) and sent her boys back to Gryffindor.

 

But the rest that she had wanted so desperately continued to escape her. She twisted and turned, trying to find a sweet spot that she wasn’t sure even existed.

 

A knock at the door. She sat up and wiped her eyes blearily. Harry and Ron again? But that didn’t make sense. It was late, well past curfew. Her heart leapt at a sudden realization. It had to be Ron. They had that one, searing kiss during the battle and had been tiptoeing around each other ever since, neither daring to make the next move. Until now.

 

She sat at the edge of the bed and straightened her camisole. Another knock. Hermione stood up and walked cautiously out of her bedroom and toward the door. What was she going to say to him? Was her heart pounding in excitement or apprehension? She was acutely aware that her apartment was empty. They could…if they wanted...

 

Hermione took a deep breath and opened the door, her head automatically tipping up to the meet the eyes of someone very different from whom she expected.

 

“Oh.”

 

Was that all she could say to Malfoy now? Hermione stood up straighter and crossed her arms over her chest. Offensive was the best strategy in cases like Malfoy. “Here to tell me that my filthy blood doesn’t belong in Slytherin? Don’t bother. I have no intention of muddying up your precious House.”

 

He just stared at her, expression flickering minutely with each word. But unlike with Harry or Ron, she didn’t have the slightest clue as to what those little facial tics meant. She was taking a deep breath, prepared to slam the door in his face when he reached new levels of absurdity.

 

“Can I come in?”

 

A deep, crimson blush inadvertently spread through her cheeks. Her lifetime bully and ex-Deatheater who openly wished for her death _as a child_ wanted to come in. It was ludicrous. It was dangerous. It could only mean that he wished her harm. So why didn’t she feel a lick of fear? Why, instead, did a thrum of magic rush pleasantly to her fingertips?

 

“No, Malfoy, you cannot. As you can see,” she gestured up and down her body, his eyes following her movements, “I was in bed and _you_ are out past curfew.” He rolled his eyes and she relaxed somewhat, more at ease with annoyed Malfoy than this strange one that had showed up at her door.

 

“It’s important,” he hissed, taking a step forward and causing her to take one back in alarm. “Why do you think I would be here if it wasn’t of the utmost importance?” She swore his eyes grew darker, the pupils seemed to bleed into grey. He paused and squeezed his eyes shut. Just like on the train.

 

“Okay.”

 

Hermione surprised herself with the admission, and she certainly surprised Malfoy if his sharp intake of breath was any indication. “But make it quick, because, as you clearly know, I’ve had one hell of a first day.”

 

She walked slowly to the tiny tea table next to her kitchenette. It was still littered with the three mugs from her earlier visit, but she made no move to clean them up. Malfoy was notgoing to be offered any refreshments.

 

Hermione sat in one of the stools and set her chin into her hands, watching him closely. Now that he was granted entry he seemed somewhat…nervous. He lingered in the doorway before taking uncertain strides toward the table, all the while avoiding her gaze and instead casting sweeping looks through the apartment. When he sat down across from her, his eyes narrowed in on the discarded mugs with a twitch that she couldn’t hope to identity.

 

Hermione, in spite of herself, was growing rather curious. Her expression must have betrayed some new openness because he opened his mouth and delivered a flood of some of the strangest phrases she had ever heard.

 

“I know that you’re very unhappy at your sorting. Like you said, you intend never to set foot in Slytherin, but I want to let you know that I will personally make sure Slytherin will welcome you despite our past.” He waved a careless hand, as if years of vicious bullying could be undone with a single lecture.

 

She felt her eyebrows creeping up toward her hairline as he continued, his voice growing deeper and his eyes darkening in intensity.

 

“I don’t claim to have the respect of my House as I used to, but I still hold their fear. No Slytherin will dare make you feel uncomfortable. You will be treated like one of us.”

 

Hermione stared at him, lips parted in confusion. What in Godric’s name was going on today? King Snake Malfoy, welcoming a muggle-born into Slytherin. The War must have addled his brains. Or he was planning to put this show of an olive branch in the _Prophet_. Or, she thought a bit anxiously, he wanted to get her on his home turf, and then she would never be seen or heard from again.

 

She decided to go the way of caution. “Thank you,” she said politely, avoiding his rather intense gaze. This was the first time she could ever recall being polite to a Malfoy.

 

He nodded sharply, but made no move to get up.

 

“I’m going to bed,” she ventured. “Unless there’s anything else?”

 

A brief look of amusement flashed across his face. That was quite easy to read. One side of his mouth curved up and his eyes crinkled just slightly. She was struck with the intrusive thought that he was quite handsome when he wasn’t sneering at everyone within an eight-meter radius.

 

“Not at the moment,” he shrugged and stood up, giving her one more of those strange, searching looks. “I’ll see you around, Granger.”

 

She waited until she heard the door click before lowering her forehead to the table and groaning.

 

***

 

After a long night of hard thinking and no sleep, Hermione arrived to the conclusion that Malfoy’s apparent bout of insanity was his way of making up for the events at Malfoy Manor. An outright apology didn’t suit his style, but an act of chivalry seemed more in line with what she knew about Pureblood culture.

 

What she hadn’t figured out was why he looked at her with such profound interest, like she was a magical creature that he had never seen before and was incredibly curious about. His previous looks had been passing glances of disgust or vicious glares when they butted heads in class. Maybe her pseudo-Slytherin status made him regard her with new respect. She snorted out loud.

 

“What’s so funny?” Harry smiled at her over heaps of bacon, eggs, and pancakes.

 

“Just thinking about how ridiculous this whole situation is.” It was a partial truth. She decided against telling her friends about Malfoy’s late night visit. It would only cause more trouble that she was woefully trying to avoid.

 

“Agreed,” Ginny swept her long red hair into a ponytail and gestured around the apartment. “But at least you got this incredible place out of the mess.”

 

“It’s too far,” Ron interjected with a whine, “six corridors and three staircases away from Gryffindor tower.”

 

Harry scowled. “And too close to the Dungeons.”

 

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The placement of her new chambers had nothing to do with anything. These boys were too protective for their own good. She finished her second cup of tea, patting herself on the back for her correct decision to withhold all Malfoy information. She could easily envision Harry and Ron stomping down to the Great Hall and demanding that the blond Slytherin never approach her again. Which would only cause more tension that no one needed. _Especially_ , she shuddered slightly, _if the sorting holds and I really am Slytherin._

 

Neville shot her a small smile. “At least you still have Potions and Herbology with us.” He looked around the table.  “And our Hermione can hold her own around a bunch of snakes for the rest.”

 

Hermione laughed with the group, but she wasn’t so sure about that. Mean, vicious Slytherins she could certainly handle. But Slytherins with Malfoy’s strange new attitude would be a whole new challenge—one that she was not looking forward to tackling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cue Draco being very strategic in piquing Hermione's interest. Also, as you may have noticed. I write pretty short chapters. Sorry about that, I just have limited time and I like posting as often as I can!


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